


Too Damn Hot

by Toastybluetwo



Category: Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastybluetwo/pseuds/Toastybluetwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders eats frozen custard and ponders friendship. (For the Anders Prompt Group: ‘relief’.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Damn Hot

Kirkwall had a tendency to smell bad, a fact that Anders had grown used to during the course of the past six years that he had spent there. The Undercity had the aroma of a sewer – unwashed bodies, human refuse, and the spirits of templar domination mixed with the specter of Tevinter oppression. In Lowtown, if one of the inns dared fill one of the rubbish bins with the remainders of uneaten stew and piled empty kegs nearby, the nearby winding, choking streets never let anyone forget the transgression.

Hightown, as a stark contrast, smelled of everything fake. Orlesian perfumes, sharp and far too flowery, tried to disguise a general lack of hygiene on the part of the upper classes. To Anders, it was proof of pretense. You needed nothing else.

On a day as hot and as humid as the one that dawned that morning, the stink of Kirkwall settled on his mind like a fever. Anders couldn’t even think.

By noon, he blended in with the rest of the customers at the Hanged Man – sweating, wearing as few clothes as was civil for a man, and thinking that ordering fried fish for lunch might have been a bad idea considering the sheer abuse coming from the sun’s rays just beyond the doors to the establishment. Anders had left his coat and jerkin back at the manor, opened his shirt at the neck, and tied a red rag at his throat, a feeble attempt at keeping the sweat from his face from dripping down his chest.

As for the basket of fried fish, it seemed like far too heavy of a meal.

In fact, Anders had begun to question if he was even hungry.

“Hey, Blondie, you gotta try this.”

From most of his companions, save for Hawke and Aveline, to start a conversation like this would have been a prime warning sign for Anders to refuse whatever was being offered. Even from Varric, who dropped into the empty seat next to his, it was enough cause for Anders to give whatever was in the bowl in the dwarf’s hands a curious look.

“Maker, what is that?” Anders leaned away from Varric. Whatever it was, it was brown, moist, and looked like something that most certainly shouldn’t be consumed, or in a bowl.

“This, my friend, is frozen chocolate custard.” Varric made what appeared to be a very dramatic show of dipping a wooden spoon into the glistening mess, scooping up a small amount, and sliding it between his lips. Closing his eyes, he let out a small groan.

“A – what? Really?” It wasn’t as though that chocolate was terribly common in the Free Marches. Except for gracing a few tables of the very wealthy, chocolate tended to stay in Rivain, where the country’s citizens tended to jealously enjoy it. “Where did you get that?”

“Mm.” Varric leaned back in his chair, a small smile touching the corners of his lips. “Not telling.”

“Alright, fine.” Let Varric have the satisfaction of being able to acquire his rare goods due to a few unknown favors. Anders didn’t really want the details anyway. Looking down at his fish, he took up a single piece and nibbled on the end.

Then again, the idea of a frozen anything sounded like something far, far more appealing. It reminded him of joy. Freedom. A childhood spent running outside from a warm farmhouse and deliberately falling, face first, into a snow bank. Cold brought clarity.

“You want some?”

Anders wasn’t sure where Varric had suddenly acquired a second wooden spoon, but there it was, filled with another scoop of the sweet, glistening dessert. Varric held this new spoon toward Anders, as if the dwarf meant to feed him.

No, he didn’t want to be fed.

Yes, he wanted some.

“I haven’t had chocolate since –“ Anders began, intending on sharing with Varric a story about the Ferelden circle, when the rare delicacy quite accidentally got left on a dining room table by a visiting templar. Suddenly, Varric leaned forward, and the spoon was in Anders’ mouth, stopping his words. “Mrph.”

Maker, it was what he needed. The richness of the chocolate immediately burst over his tongue, slid up the roof of his mouth, where the cold seeped inward and upward through the rest of his sweat-covered head. As the custard slid down his throat, his eyes widened from the sweetness, the hidden sugar, the thickness of the cream that had been so expertly folded into the treat.

“The rest is yours.” Varric pushed the half-empty dish toward Anders, and stood up. He was still smiling as he put the spoon that he had used to feed Anders back in the dish. “Have a good one.”

“But –“ Anders watched, almost helplessly, as Varric headed for the door. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Blondie,” said Varric over his shoulder as he opened the door to the inn. “You needed it, I provided.”

Needed it, indeed. Anders did not stop to ponder the reason or the purpose of the gift. Immediately, he consumed another scoop, closing his eyes as he allowed it to slowly melt on his tongue.

The custard didn’t chase away the beads of sweat on his forehead, but they did quench the fire that he was sure had settled on the top of his skull. The chocolate did not melt away the stench of unwashed bodies and the strong perfumes crafted to cover them, but it did make their presence less offensive.

Almost as soon as the last swirl of chocolate vanished from the wooden bowl, Anders felt his stomach rumble, a gentle reminder of a need for real nourishment, not treats. It was then that he remembered the fried fish, now cool in the paper that held them, the grease long since drained away, leaving deep, dark spots behind.

Eating just one of the fried strips fortified his limbs and made him feel more human, strong against the angry sunshine outside of the Hanged Man, and held promise for the day.

Or, Anders quietly noted, perhaps it was because Varric knew exactly what I needed.


End file.
